Till Death
by SatansFavoriteLittleSiren
Summary: She wasn't the kind of girl you could easily talk to. She never accepted advances, dates, calls, or things of the sort. It was a marvel how her parents got her down the isle, into my arms. The first time was a mistake; I for once had felt the pang of fear and guilt in my chest when it happened. Her face stained a satin red with the imprint of digits spread painfully.
1. Chapter 1

Today it struck me, I have a two-four shot running rampart about my mind. I tried to ignore it, till it was a solid plot about my brain, but it's clawing to get out. And since my inspiration recently posted, I just have to be rid of this. I'll let you know how many chapters are in this one. May the force be with you.

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><p>My mom always told me I was smart, could figure my way out of the most complicated of mazes in the dark no flashlight. That I could change the world, seize it, or maybe even rule it. My teachers had always said the same, writing comments of praise on assignment sheets and skill evaluations. As a spoiled brat they treated me as, I believed it, living off the encouraging words, the words of love and admiration. But that's the thing. I really was an arrogant little cad with a stroked ego. So it was no surprise when I shot so down when she watched me with those eyes, cold, distant, and uncaring. I was so high that I thought without consequence, I was immortalized as a king. She thought she was so much better; I had to show her she wasn't. She would never be, but then, why was she looking at me like this? How dare she look at me with such disdain, when I did not have to have her overbearing presence by my own? As far as any other woman was considered, my very person was desirable, so she should feel honored. But, she still balled up and hissed from my touch, only causing me to touch her more forcefully.<p>

The first time was a mistake; I for once had felt the pang of fear and guilt in my chest when it happened. Her face stained a satin red with the imprint of digits spread painfully. We had been fighting (a normal day in the life of our marriage) when she finally said she was done. Angry that her parents handed her over like cheap meat; she wasn't cheap that's for sure. She didn't take kindly to my unkind words, screaming that my parents should have hit me more and that my older had more discipline and he gets my fathers attention yet is just as spoiled. It enraged me; I let her know it to. When all was said and done, she left to our shared bedroom, sobbing quietly, leaving me to the swarm of thoughts. The pain had subsided, replaced with a burning, a desire to be in total control of her, to possess her, mind, soul, and body. I remember storming into the room and demanding she quit crying, it wouldn't do her good. That night I ripped her virtue forcefully from her, leaving her to break apart at my feet. The whole time a sadistic smile clung to my lips. For a week this was routine, not the hits, but the claiming her. I needed her to be less strong willed, to be more of the other women, small, insignificant, weak. I needed her to be reverted to her twelve-year-old self. To be mine.

The second time was out of shear anger, not with her, but anger nonetheless. But it wasn't a stinging numbing slap it was more forceful. My hands around her neck tight, unwavering. I repeated that I was in charge; to not defy me, keep in line. She hit back. That was the biggest mistake of that girl's life. I didn't see her a week, but I knew she was still in the house. She would never risk my title. She had gone to work, one luxury I allowed. Come back to me one the couch, taking a long drag from my cigarette. Late, about twenty minutes. Where was she for twenty minutes late to home? I had gone out of my way to cook for her too. Why was she twenty minutes late? The dumb girl stood by the door, waiting for me to acknowledge her to me. When I gesture for her, hesitantly she moved.

"Do not hesitate, girl. Come." I stood, briskly walking and towering over the girl. "Do it right the first time." Something played in my mind, earning me the sick smile that played on my lips now. Raising my hand to her arm, slowly so she didn't flinch. I laid my lit cancer causing fire stick to her pale peach skin. Her shriek rang loud, music to my ears. I hit her to the ground. "You will quit this job that makes you late twenty minutes. If you want work, you'll ask me for it. I'll make you work. Now on your knees, girl." Bliss of her tongue and my hands ripping hair from her scalp was unbearable. "Whom do you belong to?" I pulled her away, but still on her hands and knees. "Yours." She gave weakly.

"Whose?"

"Yours, Sasuke."

"Louder."

"Yours Sasuke."

I smiled, laughing darkly, "Next time," I pulled her along side of my strides towards the bedroom, her crawling like the animal she was. "Do as I say the first time the way I want it done."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl, Sakura." Despite my smile, I still wasn't satisfied, I hit her again, and loving the way she fell by my hand yet never once did that look of disgust left her.

I worked hard for all I have, despite all I was given. I maintained a corporation, a name, and a legacy. After my brother's passing, I took over what my father left him and I, making it an empire. You could imagine my surprise when that dumb bitch didn't break after all my work I've put into her. I came home every night, only ever craved her touch, cooked and sometimes cleaned. Sure we had our flaws, but for the most part I tried to love and keep her content. But she still looked at me like that. I would love nothing more than to hear her say I love you and stop looking at me like I'm the monster. One night I'd caught her crying. She flinched away, repeatedly apologizing. I inquired why; she just stared blankly, tears falling freely. I asked again, softer. She told me that she was scared of the future. I was confused, so naturally I screamed what the hell she was talking about. Simply, as if I was mentally impaired, said, "I'm scared of you." I laughed, kneeling, which had her scuttling away. I pulled her towards me, holding her.

I decided to switch tactics, be caring and trying to gain her trust. At that point I had stared therapy. I was trying, hard. But I snapped one day, it seemed as if she was ignoring me. I couldn't do that. I broke her that night, destroyed her then locked her away from all eyes to see. I was asked if she was all right, lying telling them she was sick. I mistook this week as one of few appearances, but a large ball was demanding my person. And hers. I had her cover her bruises and such that were fading brilliantly into hicky-like bruise. Her dress covered everything but her arms and neck. I got her a pearl string necklace, five or six strings to cover most of her neck. The whole night she pretended to be in love, pretended to be mine, pretended that I wasn't hurting her. I believed it, so much so that when we got home I made love to her, whispered to her my love, and showed her what was really in me. She never once said a word of love back, only moans and groans of my name, I mistakenly took that as her way of giving over her heart. I had finally claimed her heart, mind, soul, and body.

The next morning she wasn't in bed, or the house. Nor was she in the garden, or on the porch. I searched the grounds, but nowhere. I could have killed her when she showed after an hour. I nearly did. For a week I destroyed her, killing whatever self-loving attitude she had ever had. But that didn't stop her from leaving again and again week after week, for longer periods of times. I had to follow her; I had to know where she was.

She wasn't the kind of girl you could easily talk to. She never accepted advances, dates, calls, or things of the sort. It was a marvel how her parents got her down the isle, into my arms. Even more so when she took on wifely duties the first year, asked if I wanted children and when so she could schedule accordingly. For a while, it seemed like we were in love the first year, I never forced her into sex, never said more than three words really. But that night that thing spoke out of terms was the night I lost myself in her. I knew I loved her I was a broken mess when she left the house most mornings, fearing she had left for good. I was so engrossed with the girl I didn't know how to go about my day without her next to me bloody and shattered in mornings. I zombie through the day, waiting to get home and make her suffer for my bad day. But most days I just gave up and left her be. So when I followed her I was glad I left her alone, I would throw up on spot if I touched her that month.

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><p>Short but for now all I got. I'll update soon enough.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn't always so cold. There was a time when he'd caress my pale face, hold me to him, kiss me as if I would slip away. When he first hit me, I said it was the only time; he would never do it again. He was angry and spiteful, disgusted with himself. He's mother had passed; he was confused, lonely, broken. The only woman he'd ever known to care and love him.

My love for him wasn't always so constant. I was scared to love him, afraid to, even. My father gave me to him not by my own obligations. My mother tried to refuse, seeing how enthralled I was with another, how I'd given him my heart. I was very reluctant during the ceremony; I hadn't even been given the chance to look upon my betrothed's face. How would I, how could I, love a man I haven't even seen? I just couldn't. When I laid eyes upon his gorgeous face, I could feel the cold rolling off of him. I hated him from that moment. I gave uncaring stares into those deep, pitiful soulless eyes, challenging him silently. The first month of our loveless marriage was just that, loveless. He started to try after the month, surprising me with small gifts and telling me that it was useless hating one another. I could understand it, but I still couldn't help the resentment.

Naruto wasn't like Sasuke, he was openly happy with me. He always told me he loved me. We had our first date under a cherry tree, he had timidly kissed me. We had grown together, neighbors and forever together. Destined to be married my mother had told me. Our friends endorsed it as well. With his carefree spirit, golden hair and eyes like the azure sky, I knew I'd never love another. When I was married to the man I could never love, Naruto was hurt, he understood, but not enough to stay. He left, I was hurt when he wasn't at the wedding, but he snuck over once more to kiss me under a cherry tree. It wasn't until Sasuke started hitting me did I find out that he had seen the powerful kiss shared by my lover and I.

A prominent, esteemed, called it what you wished; he was still a spoiled little rich kid. He was heavily entitled, silver spoon shoved so far up his pompous ass, lived off of daddy. I didn't sympathize until his mother had died. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, though. I couldn't. All I could do was sit up as he drunk himself stupid most of the first week.

It was a year into our marriage when it happened, the abuse. Mentally, he never scared me, physically; I had marks and bruises from his 'love'. From then on I despised him. I had thought of running away, leaving him, but where would I go? My father, if you could call him that, would send me back, the love of my heart had moved the second he was invited to my union to someone else. I had no friends, he made me deny all advances for friendship, telling me I was his and no one could be at risk of finding out. To prove that, he forced me to brand his name in black ink over my heart, wear his bruises as a sign of ownership, take his sexual innuendoes as a sign of affection. No one would want me then, I had summarized, a broken shell of the woman I used to be. But that's not what I wanted to tell you.

Sasuke Uchiha was psychologically unstable. He had seen a psychiatrist for it, had been diagnosed with something I hadn't a clue what but took pills for. After his mother left our world, he lost his sanity, not even I, his wife, could free him from his state. Sasuke was forever lost to me, his brother, father, to anyone who ever knew him. I hated him more after that, more after the second time he put a hand to me, and the third, and the fourth. The fifth time, I left, I had to, I feared for my life. I couldn't look back. But again, where was I going to go? Who would ever listen to me? I had his damn signature on my chest, I would be perceived as in love, now wouldn't I?

There was a time I was in love with the man, a time I wouldn't look at him the way I do now. He was such the loving husband, coming home to him was the highlight of my workday. He never once forced me to be uncomfortable, telling me he'd wait till I wanted him to claim me. I wouldn't let that happen, not in his lifetime, but the thought was beautiful. He had come home late one night, one stray red tulip in his hand, apology at his lips. I was joyed at the gesture, such a thoughtful meaning for such miniscule of a flaw. He sat with me, trying to explain why he was late; work had caught up from the week he took off to take me to a far off land because he thought I wanted it. I had spoken about it to a friend once, saying I had read about it, but I never thought he'd clear a week to go for my sake. He was admirable like that, though, stubborn too. But I would never mention another destination if work stressed him out like this. He said the rest of his week would be late, unless I didn't mind him working this weekend, it'd only be two, three hours at most. I didn't care, which ever suited him but he decided to stay late, take me out Sunday instead. I insisted he didn't need to he really could relax. Gratefully, his tired eyes thanked me. I pointed out that I made dinner and tea, for him to eat then sleep, he had to be up at five; it was nearly midnight. I pushed hair out his face; he suddenly had his lips to mine, soft yet so demanding.

"Sleep, Sasuke." I kissed his forehead and left. Not for long anyways, he and I shared a bed. Large, but he enjoyed pulling me to his stronger frame, kissing me softly till he was sleep's captive in the crook of my neck, my fingers running through his silk inky locks. I could endure him when he was sleep, not smothering me, trying at this fruitless marriage. I felt gross when he was awake. I was trying to love him, do not make me out to be the enemy, but I couldn't, not when I was so deeply hungered for another's touch. It wouldn't be fair to him. He needed unconditional love, loyalty, and honesty. I couldn't do that for him.

When I left, when I finally got away, I went to the only person who had ever cared enough. Not for me, but for him. I sat by her side and whispered my pleas, I needed her to help me, save me, but most of all, him. I cried to her, I couldn't do it any longer; I needed her to save us. I was lost without her guidance and sure-fire ways to deal with him, I was at the end of my rope, please, Mrs. Uchiha, save me.

I left to her maybe six times before Sasuke caught me. When he did, he glared, dragged me home. I never, ever, would wish this sort of punishment on my worst enemies. I couldn't move let alone speak. I lay there, in my own blood, wishing death to my husband. To myself. I would cry but he'd kick me back into submission, yelling that no one will save me. When he left, he left for what seemed like days, weeks, maybe a month. When he knelt to me, he apologized, continuously, I said he has to. Will have to. He couldn't live with himself. I tried to convince him he was alright, calm him, keep him from straying away from his medications. I told him I loved him, I could forgive him, if he'd take his meds. Save both of us.

"Your mother would want that."

I had blacked out. But it was peaceful; I was floating on a cloud that promised uninterrupted sleep. No pain could be felt here, all my scars faded beautifully. When I opened my eyes, there he sat, cross-legged, smiling, hands in his lap.

"I waited for you. You took your time, Sakura."

"I'm sorry." My voice was no longer horsed, I could breathe so easily. I looked around the field. A field of red tulips.

"You sure do enjoy taking your time." A softer, yet masculine voice called from behind. Sitting up, I looked over at shining blue eyes. His fox like smile, bright. "I missed you."

"I-" I was at a lost of words.

"Yes dear, we all did." Her, Mrs. Uchiha smiled at me, standing right next to Naruto.

Like a cruel nightmare they stood around me, smiling, looking so peaceful and timeless. When I looked to my husband, he was slowly fading away, but when I turned to Mikoto and Naruto they were solid. I looked around again, and then down; I was fading.

"It's not time dear. Go... We'll wait." She said.

When I finally awoke it was to blinding hospital lights, I was raped and beaten by an unknown subject out to hurt Sasuke. But I knew. I knew what I saw. For fifteen minutes, I was dead, and in that time I figured out two things; my husband was a liar and murderer.

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><p>So I noticed I enjoy killing off Sasuke's mother, it isn't purposeful, but I fell like in the mangaanime if Itachi were to just kill his mother, Sasuke would've still snapped. So snappy Sasuke is my new obsession, and I'm writing this in spirit of Hollow's Eve, so why not a good murdering Sasuke U? Well it's 2 a.m. and those voices that compel you to write have silenced themselves. That's all for now, one more chapter then I'll move on to lighter things.


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